


Not Alone

by pokeasleepingsmaug



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Gen, Miscarriage, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 14:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/pseuds/pokeasleepingsmaug
Summary: The reader is Hvitserk's wife. After their first child is born dead, Hvitserk stops her from attempting suicide.





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I received the following request on Tumblr. This is my crappy attempt at fulfilling it.
> 
> "RAIDER'S WIFE" IS AMAZING! Could you please write a fic where reader is hvitserk's wife and their first child was born dead and one day reader is going to kill herself bc she can't handle that pain anymore and hvitserk enters before that and stops her and so on I CAN'T PUT MY IDEAS IN ORDER AGH :( 
> 
> TW: miscarriage, suicidal thoughts

Ever since you'd married Hvitserk you had dreamed of giving him children, but the gods were cruel. Everything—every inch of your skin, the hair on your head, your very bones—ached. It was a wonder your heart was able to beat through that much agony. It just proved the cruelty of the gods, that you could still live through the loss of your son. He'd been born at the earliest blooming of spring, small, perfect, and so, so still. 

Your hand clenched around the knife you carried, knuckles turning white. Soon you would join him. Walking to the grave was slow, the world around—summer in full glory—only muted colors to your tired, aching eyes. The pain was just too much now, it only worsened with each passing day. You never saw Hvitserk cry, never saw any hints of grief on his face, and that only made you feel alone. There was nothing and no one here for you anymore. Only the peace of death.

You reached the small grave under the large ash tree. Hvitserk had dug it with his own hands, tenderly placed the small, still bundle in the cold embrace of still-thawing dirt. The tears dripping onto the little white bundle had been the only ones you'd seen him shed. There were tears dripping onto the dirt again, falling from your chin to seep into the grave. Soon you would have a grave of your own. You knew Hvitserk would bury you beside your son. 

You plopped down onto the ground, murmuring a greeting to your child down below. You shifted the knife in your grip, moving it slowly toward your wrist. You could only ever move slowly now through this haze of grief and pain. Once you had been swift, a shieldmaiden, but now you felt more alive than dead. It was time to make your body match how your heart felt. 

“Y/N!” Hvitserk's voice cut into your trance like a knife. “What are you doing?” He was terrified, you could tell by his tone, and suddenly the knife flew from your hands as he knocked it away. Strong arms pulled you onto his lap, crushing you against his chest, and you were startled to feel him shaking. 

“Hvitserk?” Your voice was small and tentative, but that one word seemed to break something in him. He choked out a wracking sob that shook his entire body as his arms tightened around you. “Husband?”

“You call me your husband still, yet you would break all your promises and leave me? Do I mean so little to you?” The hurt in his voice surprised you, made you feel guilty. “I know you grieve for the child, Y/n. I do, too. I am always thinking of him, who he might have been. The life he was denied. How unfair it is. My own brother was born a cripple and he still lives, but not our son. I cannot even escape the grief in my dreams. You are all that gets me through the pain, but you want to leave me, too.”

“I never see you cry.” You couldn't help the accusation in your voice. “I thought I grieved alone.”

Hvitserk barked out a bitter laugh. “And I never see you do anything but cry. I could not burden you with my own grief when yours is so heavy.” He planted a kiss in your hair, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and breathing in deep. “You are never alone, konan min. As long as I draw breath, you will do nothing alone.” He shifted you in his lap, so both of you faced the grave. “I know we never named him, but in my head I call him Sigurd, after my brother.”

“Do you think Sigurd has taken him with him to Valhalla, and takes care of him there for us?” You asked, settling more comfortably into your husband's arms.

“I am sure of it. It is why I always call him Sigurd. And my father, too, and my mother, if she is in Valhalla. But she was no great warrior, and so even if our little one is in Hel, he is not alone.” Hvitserk rested his chin on the top of your head. “And neither are you. Promise me something, Y/n?” You nodded. “You will never try that again, knowing that our boy is cared for.”

“I promise.”


End file.
